


A Demon Sets Fire to an Angel

by StripestheBoar



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Is Soft, Aziraphale’s a top even if he’s got a vulva, Both of them are dumbasses at times, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley does call someone’s mom a cunt so yeah, Decorating Montage, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Misunderstanding, Nesting, Romance, Swearing, Wing Grooming, and Crowley is here for it, and he tries his best, crowley’s a total power bottom, more focused on their emotions, sex is not explicit, soul mating? I dunno, soul melding stuff, very sensual and feel good stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripestheBoar/pseuds/StripestheBoar
Summary: The spring after the abotchalypse, Aziraphale finds one of Crowley’s feathers and immediately something inside him switches on. Immediately he begins preparing a nest, something that Crowley isn’t all that thrilled about.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 250





	A Demon Sets Fire to an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Yes bitch. I have now entered the Good Omens fandom. While it’s not as big as my love for Batman, I still enjoy writing these characters and experimenting with them.
> 
> To all you hardcore Good Omens lovers out there, tell me what you think! I’ve been considering doing a multi-chapter fic of them on an adventure— not sure tho. Most of my chapters are usually pretty hefty, like this one. Hopefully you like my writing style and how I portray the characters! Hoping to get the book for Christmas.
> 
> Enjoy!

When it came to the unexplainable, Aziraphale prided himself in believing the word was merely a concept instead of a phenomenon. Everything could be explained, he knew; he refused to believe God would allow such entropy on Earth. Everything was meticulously designed. Centuries of mortal development led to their ever-growing knowledge of just how meticulous God was with her design. He collected many books that landmarked human discovery, half because he was curious himself and half because he wanted to appreciate Her design.

When it came to the “unknowable”, Aziraphale wasn’t one to speculate. The aftermath of Great Plan’s near apocalypse had taught him that some things are simply ineffable at certain moments in time, and that if he was patient, he would soon have his answer within the coming years. While it had been a frightening experience at first, knowing some things were set in stone that he could not foresee, but preventing the end of the world had brought about a relative feeling of calm over his soul. Whatever happened from then on happened, and he felt content in just letting himself flow with the coming tides.

That was until the coming spring after the not-end of the world. He encountered something unknowable— something so unique to his being that no expansive library in the world could soothe his bewilderment. It wasn’t a human problem, it was an _Aziraphale_ problem, and one he’d never before encountered.

It was abrupt; quite like flipping a switch. The spring of the first year of the rest of their lives was a quiet one. No longer hindered by etherial supervision, Crowley and Aziraphale had been spending more time together as friends. Dining, the occasional movie, having more drunk conversations about the existence of marine mammals and their brain size; it was all quite relaxing. That particular warm day, Crowley was expected to swing by, no doubt for a bit of wine and napping on a sofa Aziraphale never used. He’d never said he was coming, but the angel had a feeling; it was a sort of unexplained pattern he’d picked up on fueled by various factors. Being the serpent he was, Crowley was always a tad more lively on sunny days, and every other Tuesday like today was when the demon visited a local botanic nursery to look for any healthy plants that wouldn’t crack under pressure and develop spots. Knowing his opposite was set to stop by, Aziraphale had begun a bit of cleaning. There was something more rewarding in the feeling of dusting off your own books yourself rather than to just miracle them dust-free. It made him feel more accomplished and productive. While he’d been doing the practice for over a month, it was only that day where _it_ caught his eye.

Aziraphale halted his cleaning of the coffee table when his eyes caught a glimpse of something out of place on the couch. He never used the old sofa, but it was Crowley’s favorite napping spot, so he preferred to keep it around for that sole reason. That’s why he’d never seen it before: something thin and black jutting out from between the cushions.

Curiously, the angel made his way to the sofa and took hold of the thin black point, slowly withdrawing it to reveal the plumage of a large black feather. It was far too large to be that of a crow, but more likely of a Crowley. One of his primaries, no doubt; it was long and sleek, the lack of any natural oils indicating it was rather old. It must have gotten caught while Crowley was napping. “Lost a feather, have you?” he muttered to himself, a fond smile crossed over his visage. “How deep a sleep must you be in to not feel a pulled primary?”

Aziraphale had seen his friend’s wings few times in their long and complicated relationship; it wasn’t exactly a good idea to have then out in such a public place where nosy eyes could peek in from the windows at any times, so the last time he’d gotten a look at them was when they were with Adam. He’d been quite distracted then, unable to truly admire their span or how the feathers seemed to absorb the light that shone on them. Even in his hand, the feather he held failed to reflect any of the overhead light like his own did. The stem was wicked black, but as the plumage spanned out, a darker shade of gray tipped the primary.

Aziraphale’s nose wasn’t as finely-tuned as Crowley’s, but he could still detect traces of the flora of his flat and that smokey flavor intermingled with this musky scent he could only describe as snake-like. His nose twitched a little at the scent, a smile coming to his face at the idea of his friend spending so much time in his bookshop that he accidentally left a literal part of him. He reached up a few fingers to get a feel for its sleek texture, having never had the chance to touch his wings before. Not that he really wanted to, of course. Running his fingers over the soft feather— so much like an angel’s he was astounded —something clicked into place in his head. It was like a switched flipped upon touching the feather. A warmth was lit inside his core at simply feeling the feather. Seconds of touching the feather turned into minutes, his fingers unable to get enough of its texture, his eyes entranced by its design. He thought of Crowley’s wings and immediately had the urge to touch them— to groom them and make sure he was properly preened, something that made the warmth only intensify. It was a practice he imagined he could do for hours, running his fingers gently over the ridges of the marginal coverts and down each digit. How good it would make Crowley feel, being groomed. Preening oneself was already a difficult upkeep when you hardly ever have time to spread your wings in a world where you weren’t supposed to have them at all; he can’t imagine the last time Crowley would have found the time or care to do so.

“Perhaps I should offer after a spot of wine,” Aziraphale mentioned, the thought of seeing more of Crowley’s feathers enough to pull his eyes away from the feather and tucking it carefully into his coat pocket, taking a quick second to feel over it one last time. “Surely it’s been a few centuries since anyone’s done him the favor of—“

He stopped himself there, face falling immediately. That heat quickly vanished. Demons didn’t groom, did they? He wouldn’t think so. He hoped they wouldn’t. The idea of vicious hands carelessly clawing at Crowley’s wings sickened him. The idea of anyone touching Crowley’s wings sickened him, now that he considered it. Crowley had no other winged acquaintances, at least that Aziraphale knew of. Would he have been groomed before? Was it selfish of Aziraphale to hope not?

This sick, selfish pit had formed in the angel’s core, wanting to do away with the very concept of Crowley with another demon. It felt sinful to let these desires stew instead of pushing them away.

Shaking his head, he bit his lip, reaching into his pocket to feel over the feather once more to get his mind off of the uncharacteristic thoughts of his. Just the feel of it reignited a bit of that warmth once more. “I must get back to cleaning,” he spoke aloud, once more picking up the feather duster. He took a quick scan around the bookshop. So cluttered, stuffy, and hard to navigate. It was barely fit for hosting another. No, this won’t do at all, was all he could think, though he wasn’t even sure what that entailed. He thought of the flat he barely used above the bookshop, the one with the bed he never used and hardly even visited at all. Knowing it would be covered in dust, he quickly decided to start there.

* * *

Crowley sauntered in, doors opening for him with the flick of his wrist. His other hand was occupied by a tin, previously a biscuit container Aziraphale had munched through that the demon had kept for storage. Shaded eyes scanned the room for the plump angel, expecting to hear the angel shuffling along to greet him with a smile or a retort about how a human could have seen him. When none came, he sort of just stood there, shifting his weight on his feet as if waiting to eventually be greeted. Soon, however, he carelessly tossed the tin on the coffee table, immediately delving through the rows of books. “Angel?” he called, his saunter slow as he made sure to listen. A forked tongue flicked through the air for a moment, detecting Aziraphale’s scent was still thick in the air. Following the smell, he came to the set of stairs that led to the divine being’s flat. A flat he’d never been inside given Aziraphale was never inside himself. Giving a small shrug, he walked up the stairs and to the door, his hand reaching for the knob before the door suddenly sung open.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, but in a way that signaled he was delighted to see his friend. That waistcoat of his had been unbuttoned and placed elsewhere.

“Afternoon, angel,” the demon greeting, his eyes quickly taking a once over on his opposite from behind his dark shades. The angel looked a bit harried at the moment, his hand nervously fingering over a cloth. The door was ajar, but only just so, making it impossible for him to see anything other than a bit of light. “Everything alright?” he asked slowly, hands carelessly shoved in his pockets.

“Oh! Oh yes, of course!” the angel nodded, not moving from his spot.

A few seconds passed as the demon gave him a blinking stare, not that it was visible from behind his tinted glasses. “Uh… can I come in?”

Aziraphale quickly flushed a shade of red in embarrassment, letting out a small titter to try and relieve the tension in his body. He had half the mind to let him inside as he’d requested, but he stopped just short of opening the door fully. Crowley had never been in his flat. There was hardly anything in it. Sure, minimalism was certainly the demon’s style given his own home, but something inside him just knew his friend would disapprove. Maybe make a jab or two before leaving. It’s not ready, was the most prominent thought in his mind. What wasn’t ready, he wasn’t sure, but he would discorporate if he let the demon in.

Crowley had to take a step back so the angel could quickly step out, shutting the door behind him politely. “Oh no no, that won’t be necessary,” he dismissed, tucking the rag into his pocket— the one without the feather of course. “I just use my flat for storage.”

“Storage?” Crowley asked casually, his sunglasses slipping just slightly so the angel could see his quirked brow. “What do you need an entire flat to store?”

Aziraphale looked to the side.

Quick, think fast.

“My feather duster,” he said automatically, looking back at Crowley with a wavering smile.

Not that fast.

The redhead just stared at him from over his glasses before just chuckling and giving a shrug, turning to trot back down the steps. “Whatever you say, angel,” he said simply. “You still got wine, don’t you? I brought strawberries.”

Flat forgotten, Aziraphale perked up at the mention of being brought a snack. “Strawberries, you say?” He followed the other down the stairs and to the back room where they could sit around the coffee table. He immediately went to the wine rack, pulling out one he knew was Crowley’s favorite before grabbing a couple of glasses.

“Yeah. They’re in the tin,” the snake replied, happily taking a glass from his best friend. “Got a strawberry plant last week. A climbing one; she’s a big bugger.” He let Aziraphale pour him a hefty glass before he got to sipping it and continuing on. “Of course, I don’t really eat all that much, so I thought I’d give you a bunch of the fruit.”

“Oh how thoughtful,” Aziraphale hummed, taking a slow seat and with his own glass of wine and pulling the tin onto his lap. He paused, taking a moment to take in the scent of delicate strawberry intertwined with that smokey flavor of Crowley. Usually he wouldn’t be able to smell him from that distance, but the aroma hit him like a garden of flowers. He took a moment to swallow down a shaky exhale before opening the container, revealing it full of perfectly red strawberries. Each one looked flawless, all plump and juicy and practically inviting Aziraphale to eat each and every one.

“I mean, not really all that thoughtful,” Crowley shrugged, his wine still in his lap as he sat back to watch Aziraphale take a large bite of one, giving a pleasant hum at the divine taste. “You’re really just eating my leftovers.”

The blonde ignored that comment, licking at the corner of his mouth to get at a bit of juice that was left over. “These are simply grand. Some of the best I’ve ever had,” he sighed softly, finishing up the rest of the single fruit, his expression soon turning stern. “What did you do to that poor plant?”

“Oh here we go— you’re not going to get good fruit by spoiling the damn thing!” Crowley defended, exasperated to be having this conversation again. “Look, she needs to earn her place in my flat if she’s going to get the privilege of monthly soil changes and daily water mists. I don’t accept slackers in my garden, and I’m not making an exception for that fruity bastard.”

Aziraphale kept himself silent with a sip of wine, deciding to let it go. How Crowley raised his plants was his own business, as it was clear he cared for them and worked hard to keep them healthy. His eyes traveled to the windows, whose sills failed to be adorned with any sort of plant life despite there being more than enough room. Perhaps he could do with a pop of green. He would hope Crowley would at least approve of it.

The demon took a moment to stop, quickly sniffing the air. His forked tongue snaked out for only a moment, tasting the scent in his mouth. Aziraphale swallowed at the sight. Something about Crowley’s more snake-like features struck something in his core. “Did you get some knew cologne, angel?” he questioned, resting his arm on the back of the sofa. “You smell different.”

Aziraphale was immediately self conscious. He had done quite a bit of cleaning in all areas except himself that day. He couldn’t tell if it was approval or dissatisfaction in his voice, and the angel was terrified to think it could be the latter. “Oh! Is it bad? I showered this morning but—“

“No no, I didn’t say it was bad,” Crowley responded quickly, dismissing the worries with a wave of his hand. “Just different. It might be the strawberries, but you smell like…” The last word hung on his lips, trying to form the syllables but failing to do so. After a couple of seconds, he looked away, a shrug on his shoulders. “Never mind. All those cleaning supplies you have may be affecting my sense of smell.”

Aziraphale gave a sheepish smile, that unsure feeling that he may have done something wrong settling in his stomach. He kept his gaze on Crowley, however, hoping to get a glimpse behind those dark shades. Even if the redhead was more ashamed of the markings of his demon-hood, Aziraphale couldn’t help but find them oddly fascinating, especially now. The way the slits widened ever so slightly when his demon turned to look at him never failed to tighten his chest. It affected him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. The best way he described it was adoration.

In that moment, it dawned on him. Still, he said nothing, instead he distracted himself from his thought by grabbing another strawberry, taking a bite and savoring its flavor. “So. Tell me about your day.”

* * *

“Sansevieria— Snake Plant” the tag read. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile as he gently picked up the the small pot of the growing houseplant. It had gotten his attention out of all other flora in the botanic nursery from how the leaves resembled blades jutting up from the ground. It donned striated markings of dark green, reminding him quite like the markings of a many serpents. Running his hand over the leaves with a smile, he knew it was perfect for a bookshop devoid of greenery. No spots either, he noticed. Crowley would love to see it within his home, he knew.

Aziraphale lingered on that last thought as he gently touched the feather in his pocket. He went to purchase the plant, still considering it as he took a slow walk back home. The night with Crowley finally brought the answer he’d been looking for when it came to these urges. It was confirmed when the demon left, his heart sinking when he no longer got to bask in the presence of his friend. A warmth had left him, and he desired to have it back and never let it go.

“I’m nesting…” he murmured softly to the plant upon shutting the door to his bookshop. He couldn’t help the smile that rested softly on his face, accepting of this fate that had been laid upon him. Nesting was an ancient angel tradition, but still an alive one nonetheless. “Angels made nests to attract their desired partner, showing their love, their desire for their approval, and their dedication and hard work,” he spoke to the plant some more, believing it was actively listening to him. Crowley spoke to his own plants all the time, so for his first houseplant, Aziraphale wanted to give the same method a try, just with less fear. He could never bring himself to shout at one of God’s creations who did nothing wrong. “Crowley has… he’s been a friend of mine for six thousands years, even when I denied it myself.” He moved to the windowsill, moving aside a few trinkets here and there. “I’ve been denying my own feelings for quite a while now, but… he makes me feel safe. Wanted. Important. I can deny it all I want but, I know that God could never have designed my soul incorrectly, lest I Fall to Hell with the rest of those who she disapproved of.” He gently placed his newly acquired plant on the window, gently petting its leaves. “I am in love with my best friend, I admit it now,” he murmured, stroking its leaves, “and he simply adores plants. So it would please me to no end if you would try your best to grow as beautiful as you can, and I promise to treat you as lovingly as any plant owner has ever been. Can you do that for me?” He grabs a spray bottle filled with clean water, giving the plant a small spritz before going to take off his coat so he wouldn’t dirty it.

Now that he knew what was causing his odd change in behavior, he had a firmer grasp on what he needed to focus on. He walked up to his flat, which he’d begun to furnish at the start of the day. Crowley had already noticed a change in his scent, no doubt a few signals his divine essence was giving off from being so close to the one he pined for. Angels weren’t meant to attract any suitor who walked by, but instead one whom they grew affection for. Changing their home to best please the partner they are vying for. Nesting was rare, but still happened among angels who were strongly bonded.

Aziraphale looked into the rarely-used fridge in the empty kitchen to take out the tin of strawberries he hadn’t finished the night before. He’d kept himself from indulging, surprisingly enough, just so he could bask in its flavor the next day and think of the man who delivered them. Gazing over its deep red hue, he could only think of the warm fire that was Crowley, the demon he wished to woo.

A small shard of him wondered if the act was even possible? Did demons even nest? Fallen angels lost many things when they fell, including many memories of times Above and the purity within their wings, and so they developed traditions of their own. Like dancing, which was an act that marked a demon. But nesting? Well, he would simply have to gauge from Crowley’s reaction to the nest once he was introduced and go from there. Feeling the feather in his pocket, he went about getting to work.

Crowley was a minimalist when it came to decoration, so Aziraphale made sure to not go overboard in terms of furnishing the flat. The snake needed his pacing room after all. Most of what he got seemed to tread the line between both of their tastes. He moved in an armchair and a floor lamp for himself, but for once didn’t go for the most vintage one he could get his hands on. There had been a beige tartan couch he’d noticed that pleased his eye, but from prior experience with a certain tartan collar, it was the type Crowley would gag at. He had to remind himself that the couch was for Crowley, not himself and his incessant love for the old styles of the last century. However, after some consideration, he decided to move Crowley’s favorite napping couch from the backroom to the flat and still purchased the tartan couch anyway for the back room, knowing it wouldn’t be used as much once they were moved in upstairs.

He purchased a new wine rack as well, stocking it with some of Crowley’s favorite wines. The bed Aziraphale never used was old and moth-eaten, not to mention only fit for one. He got a larger, more sleek bed more of Crowley’s taste, putting a nightstand and a lamp for himself on the side opposite of the window, considering the snake would like to feel the sun when he wakes up.

Over the next week he’d made so many major adjustments, many of which were pretty difficult to do by hand, but he was dedicated enough. He’d done up the wallpaper, but redid it once he realized it was too… it was trying too hard. It was hard to explain. He made sure to clean the floors, the walls, and he nearly got rid of a nesting web of spiders when he realized that Crowley may like that sort of spooky thing. Besides, he’d feel awful if he ever killed a creature, something he’d never done before. They were all God’s creatures, great and small. He also made sure to look for artwork— Crowley was a big purveyor of fine art, most of them being odd statues whose meaning could be interpreted by the viewer. He’d gone shopping in numerous places for such a work of art, but couldn’t seem to find one that spoke to him. There were pieces that simply screamed “Crowley”, while others Aziraphale thought would be nice in his library. However, none of them seemed right for the nest.

That was until he came across a small little statuette in a thrift shop. It was of a bronze owl, a snake twisted around its leg and jaw slightly agape and fangs exposed as it looked up at the avian. It first appeared to be a scene of of the two battling it out, but upon closer inspection, he noticed at how at ease the two looked. The snake was not coiled in tension, and the owl failed to have its feathers spread in a threatening display. Whether this was intentional or the artist’s failure to capture the behavior of these animals in the piece, it still called to Aziraphale. He quite like to imagine the two animals were talking, as silly as it seemed. Without even taking the time to consider it, the statuette was purchased.

He’d made excuses on why his soon beloved couldn’t come over on certain occasions, specifically asking him over the phone to not make the effort of visiting as all he would see were some men doing renovations. Some men being Aziraphale and whatever he was able to miracle up the stairs. He’d thought about having the assistance to speed things along, but his stomach quickly lurched at the idea of other men being within the nest, tainting it with their scent. No, he wouldn’t allow it; no one was allowed inside other than the one intended to see it, lest he just burn the entire room because it would already be ruined. Besides, it was their nest so he felt right when he did it himself.

By the end of the week, Aziraphale looked upon his work with pride, knowing he’d done the best work he had in centuries. With that, he invited Crowley for lunch at a restaurant that also happened to be a winery, just so he knew his snake would certainly enjoy himself.

* * *

Of course, Crowley had accepted the offer for lunch, but when he’d arrived, he didn’t appear to be in the best of moods. He met with Aziraphale just outside the restaurant of choice, and as soon he was close, the angel could see it. The downward twitch of his lips, how he was shoving the glasses further up his nose so his eyes couldn’t be seen, the stiffness of his saunter. It all seemed to happen mid-stride, but Crowley still greeted him as he would any other meeting. Aziraphale grew self-conscious, but smiled through it all, hoping it wasn’t about him that had the demon mildly upset.

“So, what have you been up to as of late?” the angel hummed with a smile, Aziraphale’s lunch already served while Crowley was content with sipping on some wine and watching him eat. Aziraphale once found it odd, but had grown to find it a little endearing.

“Oh, you know, normal Crowley stuff,” the demon mentioned, twirling the stem of the glass between his fingers. “Sleeping. Talking to plants. Catching up on some shows I slept through.” He downed the rest of the glass, placing it back on the table and giving the lip a resounding ding with his spoon. “I never do anything you need catching up on since the abotchalypse, you know that, Angel. I was more interested in the renovations you’ve been doing; since when did you become interested in interior decorating? Trying to modern your place up for the young folk?” There was half a second before he was leaning forward in sudden realization. “Wait. Does this mean you’re finally going to get a mobile?”

Aziraphale gave a scoff at the ridiculous notion, silencing himself with more wine after a pretty hefty bite. “Heavens no,” he said rather indignantly. “And you won’t convince me otherwise.”

“Ah for Satan’s sake—“ Crowley muttered, leaning his chair back onto its hind legs as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remember those times before phones when you insisted on only sending letters? This is like that, but on a lighter scale. Do you get off on the inconvenience, Angel?”

The said angel had to take a moment to dab at his mouth with a napkin, hiding his suddenly flushed expression at the idea of him getting off on anything. He expected no less from the demon, but Aziraphale was still an angel and so had a negative disposition to the phrase. “I am not getting off to anything, thank you,” the blonde remarked, taking another bite.

“You should try it sometime,” the ginger mentioned passively, his eyes suddenly interested in elsewhere, so much so that he didn’t notice how Aziraphale choked on his food. “Maybe then you wouldn’t have to be so uptight about everything. But that’s neither here nor there; what’re you doing that you can’t miracle yourself?”

Aziraphale disregarded the previous dirty remark in favor of finally making his move. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you come see for yourself? I’d happy to host you with a spot of wine or tea after our little luncheon.”

Crowley looked over, brow raised, taking a moment to answer, which was a sign he was trying to hide some underlying emotion that a guy like him was too cool to show. After six thousand years, the angel had begun to recognize certain traits the snake exhibited. “Sure. Why not? Sounds fun in a angelic sort of way.”

By now, Aziraphale had finished, padding at his mouth, but not leaving that last remark unnoticed. “Angelic way? And what is that supposed to mean exactly?”

Crowley gestured for the bill and a refill on his wine, feigning ignorance or simply indifference to Aziraphale’s offense. “What I’m saying is that redecorating or looking at each other’s homes is what I’d imagine angels would do for fun. Like… book clubs, or… discussing the fascinating history of the pocket watch or something of the like.” Once the bill showed up, he paid (with tip, as the angel always insisted), waiting until the waiter left before continuing to talk. “Demons. Now they’re a rowdy lot, I’ll tell you that. If you’re not debauching something every three minutes, are you even a demon?”

Aziraphale thought over what he’d said, walking with Crowley out and thanking him for opening the door for him as they left. “So what you’re saying is that you think going over to my home to see my renovations is boring?”

This engendered an immediate groan. “Oh for the love of— it’s a joke, Angel!” Crowley huffed, already opening the door for Aziraphale to get in. But the blonde wasn’t done just yet.

“And furthermore, this whole ‘debauching every three minutes’ deal seems wholly impractical.”

Crowley’s mouth was agape at that point, seemingly stunned at Aziraphale’s inability to understand a joke. “I— no— Angel— no no, you’re right, I’m behind on my sinning. Excuse me one moment.” Before Aziraphale could even think to stop him, the demon turned and picked out the first man he saw walking by. “OI! YOU!” The man from afar looked over in what looked to be annoyance. “YOUR MUM’S A CUNT!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. “You can’t just yell that at random people on the street!”

“Why not?” the redhead asked innocently, opening the door as he looked back at the man who he’d sworn at. “I’m caught up on my— oh fuck. He’s running at us— get in the car.”

“What?”

“Get in the ca— Angel he’s coming— get in the car get in the car— GET IN THE BLOODY CAR!”

They were only barely able to get in the Bently and drive off before the man reached them, with Aziraphale wide-eyed and flushed in humiliation. Crowley, of course, was laughing beside him, chuckling in that devilish way whenever he he was having fun with a bit of mischief. “Crowley. Was that really necessary?” Aziraphale huffed, taking out a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat from his brow from such a frightening moment. “What did that even achieve?”

“Wrath’s a sin,” the demon shrugged lazily, steering with only one hand as he sat back. “I’d say mission accomplished. That’s probably enough to get him into hell if we’re playing by God’s logic. Well, we’re also taking the whole ‘sin every three minutes’ thing literally, Angel, which you must really stop doing. Ever thought about watching a comedy movie?”

“Why of course!”

“If you say Benny Hill, I’m dropping you off here and moving to Alpha Centauri, I swear on my wings.”

Aziraphale just became tight-lipped, looking out the window as he once again became unsure of whether to take that threat seriously or if it was just another odd joke. At the mention of wings, however, he lightened up ever so slightly, reaching into his pocket to feel that feather as the street lamps flicked by like shooting stars. They were near his bookshop, and while he was annoyed, he’d have to push his griping to the side for now. He didn’t want Crowley in a bad mood before showing him the nest he’d worked so hard on. He was sure his counterpart would absolutely embrace him at the sight, confessing love Aziraphale had been blind to for centuries.

“Ack, I had more wine than I thought at that fancy dig,” the driver spoke after exiting, finally at the bookshop the Angel treasured. “If I’d had another glass I might’ve actually crashed the Bently.”

Aziraphale knew he was just joking; trying to ruffle the angel’s feathers to get him all in a frazzle. So he kept his mouth shut, giving a strained smile as he unlocked the door manually and let Crowley in. “Now let get some of that wine you were on about,” his demon mentioned, sauntering over to the back room, where silence soon fell.

Aziraphale took a moment to lock the doors again— he was NOT going to have anyone enter at this time —and followed in the other’s footsteps, finding him simply staring at the new couch in place of his old one.

“Uh…” Crowley looked back at his opposite, jabbing a thumb at the tartan couch with a brow raised over his sunglasses questioningly.

Aziraphale now immediately regretted buying the couch as he quickly flustered, rubbing his neck in visible embarrassment. “Well— well I— er I-I-I— Shall we go upstairs?” He tented his hands tentatively, a nervous smile crossed over his face as he bounced on his toes with those last words. “I assure you— I assure you, Crowley, you’ll like my flat all the more once you’re introduced.”

Crowley had this hesitant look about him. He was tight-lipped, not saying a word as he simply took a gaze around the room, no doubt seeing how extensively it had been cleaned. He silently worked his jaw, this new tension about him making Aziraphale all the more unsure. Before, he’d been absolutely certain Crowley would get the hint and embrace Aziraphale upon seeing the nest, but he was soon doubting that hope for the future.

His demon swallowed, not letting his eyes be seen behind those shades. He flicked that forked tongue out before turning away from the angel. “I… I should get going,” he said, no warning given before he began quickly walking to the front door. “I just remembered I need to water my plants.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank to his stomach. Something was wrong, he knew. He must have come on too strong. Yes, that had to be it; perhaps Crowley wasn’t ready for nesting. Perhaps he’d been mistaken in thinking a demon— a demon for heaven’s sake —could feel the same emotion he displaying here. Surely Crowley loved him. He had to. Aziraphale couldn’t just miracle it all away and pretend it never happened. It was too late to turn back.

Rubbing the feather in his pocket, Aziraphale gathered up a courage of which he’d only felt on the day of armageddoff. Crowley had only just gotten the front door open when they quickly slammed shut with a quick miracle, Aziraphale sliding in between Crowley and his exit. “Surely you can stay for just a few more moments? So I can at least get your opinion on the state of my flat?”

At this close a distance to his opposite, Aziraphale was able to make out Crowley’s eyes from behind those shades. They were narrowed, scrunched an wrinkled in this look of pain and discomfort. The angel felt his heart breaking at the sight, but he didn’t let up. This very well could be the end to a six millennia friendship; however, Aziraphale needed to let Crowley know how he felt or he’d never forgive himself. A slow exhale came from the demon. “Why are you doing this to me, Angel?” he murmured, a sound just barely able to get tears to spring in the others’ eyes. The principality failed to move, however, and to that, Crowley took a step back, a slow but stiff saunter to the stairs. “Fine. Let me see it.”

Immediately Aziraphale took his hand, which failed to return any of the care it was given, taking him to the stairs and up into the flat.

What had once been a barren flat was now fully furnished with all the necessities a cohabiting pair would usually find. A bed, a small kitchen stocked with supplies, a decent rug and a warmth to its interior that Aziraphale knew was simply love.

Crowley’s arms were limp at his sides as he was completely mum, just taking it all in. Aziraphale rubbed the feather in his pocket, a terror swelling in his heart as he failed to see any hit of a smile or even interest in the room. Whatever was affecting the redhead was powerful enough to make him physically turn away, having to stand in the doorway for a time and shield himself from whatever this room held. It was here that the angel knew this was the end.

“I can’t do this…” Crowley whispered, a break in his voice signaling a despair deep within his very core. “I—… I need to know.” He spun on his heels to look at Aziraphale, those glasses unable to hide the distraught he felt. “Just… Just tell me who, Angel. I need to know.”

Aziraphale was stunned, unsure of how to respond as he was simply trying to process the request. “I… I beg your pardon?”

Crowley threw his hands up, having to back away for a moment as if Aziraphale was playing him for some type of sucker. “I can smell it on you. You’re nesting,” he said bluntly. Good, they were on the same page. “Just… just tell me who have you decided to fuck, Aziraphale. Tell me who this lucky guy is. Is it Michael? I’ll vomit if it’s Michael. I would never take you for a Sandalphon type of guy, but— have I even met the angel before?” Aziraphale’s mind was abuzz with confusion and surprise, trying to process what Crowley was implying. That’s when said demon froze. “Wait. Wait. Is it Gabriel? Don’t tell me it’s Gabriel. I will throw myself into a vat of holy water and burn away into oblivion if it’s Gabriel— I swear on Satan.”

Finally, Aziraphale brought his hand up to stop him. “Crowley, what are you talking about? I am not trying to woo an angel if that’s what you’re implying!”

Crowley seemed to take offense that he was suddenly the defender here. “What am I talking about? You’re the one fucking some suit-wearing bag of feathers who could never value you like I do! They tried to kill you, and yet you go back and pick some random bloke from the clouds and not even give me a warning! I’m you’re best friend, and you don’t think it’s pertinent to tell me you’re fucking some wanker named Nigel— I bet his name’s Nigel —that’s so your type —and instead you just decide to bring me into the nest you’ve made with him! I’m a demon, and even I could never be that much of a bastard if I tried!”

It was during Crowley’s rant that it seemed to finally dawn on Aziraphale the core of their misunderstanding. He was treating Crowley as a bird instead of the snake that he was.

When the serpent took a breath to continue, the guardian of the eastern gate found the time to put the misunderstand to rest. “You… you don’t build nests to try and attract mates…” he said softly, realization in his voice. It was with this that Crowley’s anger seemed to taper off as he began to understand what his friend was implying.

“No… we don’t,” he confirmed softly, the same solution dawning on him as well. “Snakes. Lizards. Flies. We don’t make our nests until we’ve picked someone to settle down with. A place you build together… You guys don’t do that?”

Aziraphale felt a twitch of a smile begin to form, shaking his head as he reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out that wicked black feather. “No… we don’t,” he murmured, watching Crowley’s head tilt ever so slightly downwards to look at the feather. Those glasses hid everything from Aziraphale. “We nest in hopes of attracting the one we pine for. Someone we cherish and want to spend eternity with.” He stoked the feather slowly, bringing a hand up to gently pinch the bridge of Crowley’s shades. The demon didn’t move, allowing the glasses to slide off with ease so his angel could admire the lovely yellow hue of his eyes. “We make a nest, and when the time is right, we bring them to the nest to show them how we feel, in hopes they’ll accept the nest and return our love.” He took a moment to blink away some tears, all fear dissipating. Slowly, his wings unfurled, spreading out slowly. To show your wings in front of another without planning to use them was a sign you felt comfortable and safe within their presence. “I… I was hoping you would tell me what you think.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale silently, before slowly bringing his head up to gaze around the room with new eyes. Running a hand over the sleek sheets of the bed, his sight wandered to take in the work his angel had done. The plant in the windowsill caught his eye; a snake plant, ironically, growing tall and without a spot in sight. He couldn’t help but notice how large the sill seemed, practically big enough to hold a snake that wanted to sunbathe during a rare cloudless day in London. A little statuette say by the plant of a snake curled around an owl’s foot, but he was unsure if they were at all a threat to one another, and he enjoyed that obscurity. He saw his favorite napping couch again, right beside a comfortable looking armchair, a lamp beside it making it perfect for reading.

Everything seemed to have been tweaked to suit his tastes, and yet still held Aziraphale’s unique style that suited his own needs. It was a home made just for the two of them. Slowly his own wings unfurled, arching high as he gradually felt more safe in the homely environment. Aziraphale brought a hand to his heart, feeling it flutter at the sight. “I take it that you like my nest, Crowley?” he spoke softly, still idly stroking that feather.

“I believe you mean our nest,” Crowley corrected, turning back to Aziraphale. However, he had to pause midway as he spotted something up in the corner. “Is that a spider’s nest? You didn’t get rid of it?”

The mood was momentarily dulled as Aziraphale flustered, looking to the web before quickly going to get a jar. “Oh! Um, no, not yet— er, would you like me to?”

“No no,” the demon stopped him. “It’s spooky. I like it.” There was a pause there, just briefly. “I love it.” He walked to Aziraphale, gently taking the angel’s hands into his. “I love all of it. It’s perfect… I love it.” He let a beat pass between those words and the next. “I love you.”

The blonde felt tears in his eyes, allowing a couple to cascade down as he dropped the feather, clasping Crowley’s hands back. That warmth had returned. “May… may I kiss you?” he asked tentatively, afraid that any wrong move could wake him from this dream. The demon’s lips curled into that devilish smirk he found so tempting, before gently grasping Aziraphale by the chin and guilding him in for a kiss.

Aziraphale had never experienced being so intimate with someone before. It wasn’t that chastity was his ultimate heavenly virtue, but more that he hadn’t found interest in it. And he was glad for this, as he didn’t think any other moment of intimacy could ever surpass how Crowley made him feel in this moment. His demon wad obviously a lot more experienced than he was, but he was gentle. A hand dove between soft blonde curls as he kept at a pace the angel was comfortable with, before finally pulling away. It was then that Aziraphale could see traces of tears in the other’s eyes as well.

“I would like to groom your wings, if that would be alright with you,” he murmured softly, stroking the other’s knuckle with his thumb and leading them to the bed. Despite that, his eyes never once left Crowley’s, focused on those thin slits that were meant to mark the demon’s downfall. However, to the soft angel, he saw them only as beautiful yellow orbs in which Crowley used to shower him with love.

“Have at it, then,” the Scot murmured lovingly, leaving his friend with another gentle kiss. Aziraphale was initially disappointed when their eye contact broke, but all of that washed away upon being met with the large, sleek black wings he’d only dreamt of touching. He steadied his hands, noticing how the feathers seemed so well-kempt. He couldn’t find the scent of any other demon on him, although he had a rather weak nose when compared to Sandalphon or especially Crowley, but he imagined the tidiness of his feathers was just from the demon’s own grooming habits. Crowley’s home was always so immaculate, his style without flaw when appealing to the trends of the changing decades. Aziraphale admired such wings with just a twinge of envy, slowly working his hands into the base of the appendages. He was quickly met with an at-peace sigh, his own eyes lidding at the pleasure laced within it. He’d never heard such a sound come from his demon before; sultry and unrestrained. He needed to hear more, and so he didn’t hesitate to draw his fingers over the solid ridges that frames the feathers. His wings were so soft, not like the brittle soot he’d originally imagined a demon’s feathers would have. Slowly he began to adjust the feathers, making sure they were in proper order, occasionally taking a moment to smooth them over just to feel them some more. They felt so nice in his hands, and the way Crowley’s back arched ever so slightly whenever he skimmed a particularly sensitive place made it known that he wasn’t the only one enjoying this. He didn’t think his love could be so tender under his fingers, and yet with every other trailing finger down the vast array of feathers, a shudder seemed to be a common response. To be the one bringing about such a feeling in his significant other was intoxicating.

Even after all the feathers had been groomed, he couldn’t pull himself away. Instead, he wove his arms from behind Crowley, hugging himself into that soft bed the wings provided. His own wings arched to further wrap over his best friend, not ever wanting to let go. The demon was so warm to the touch, the divine essence he radiated melding with his own, a feeling he’d only experienced when switching forms for the trials.

Crowley was breathless, simply leaning into his angel and basking in his light. It wasn’t a physical light, but more of an ethereal one. He couldn’t quite explain it, but it lit up his soul in a way he’d only had when experiencing Her love. “So…” he murmured , head leaning back against the angel’s shoulder. He felt in a dream-like state. “What do angels do now?” Aziraphale opened his mouth, but found he wasn’t too sure.

“I’m… not confident,” he murmured truthfully. “However, given how much you’ve been forced to indulge me… I think it only fair you show me what demons do from here.”

Crowley pulled away to look back at him, his cautious gaze silently asking if he was absolutely sure. Of course, Aziraphale was soft, but far from shy when it came to his acquaintance; he would know to speak up if he was uncomfortable. When he knew Aziraphale was ready, he relaxed once more, leaning back into his arms, connecting with a kiss. As it had before, it started off slow and gentle, and Aziraphale had always dreamed. That was when he felt the other’s tongue swipe at his lower lip, a demand for entrance, and hesitantly, he let him in. The intensity of the kiss deepened as that thin forked tongue of his was introduced, the feel of it against his own tongue quickly brought a wave of heat over his face. The warmth spread down to his chest and settled in his core, pooling like a pit of magma that set his skin ablaze. It was almost overwhelming, this new feeling he hadn’t ever experienced in his six thousand years. Yes, he’d the occasional inappropriate touch from perverted pursuers over the years, but none of them had ever lit a fire under his skin as Crowley did now.

His demon’s wings wrapped him up in the embrace, surrounding Aziraphale with an intoxicating heat he couldn’t get enough of. “I love you,” he gasped whenever they were even a second apart, needing to let the other know just so he could get that reciprocation and reinforcement that someone did indeed care for him and love him.

“I love you more than anything, angel,” Crowley could only rasp, peppering the underside of Asiraphale’s jaw with kisses betwixt murmurs of sweet nothings.

“More than your Bently?” Aziraphale whispered in the heat of the moment, head tilted back and eyes shut. The kisses suddenly stopped in their tracks. There was this silence as Aziraphale’s eyes popped open, awkwardly holding Crowley while his lips were traced over the angel’s neck. “Er… I was merely jesting, darling. I would never make you choose.”

Immediately the odd tension broke as the angel was smothered by kisses once more, that odd moment forgotten and the fire once again reignited.

Crowley slowly shrugged off his jacket as he tempted his angel further, nipping experimentally at his neck with sharpened fangs. This drew out a gasp and a strangled moan at the new sensation, two hands gripping his shoulders to stabilize himself in the heat of it all. “Oh lord,” Aziraphale breathed, but Crowley wasn’t having it, putting a finger to the other’s lips in response. “No,” he snapped, giving off the same aggressive energy as when they were pressed up against a wall at a former church. “You’re not bringing her into this. Tonight, it’s just you and me, got that?”

Oh. Oh that did things to the angel he couldn’t define even if he was able to manage words at the moment. He’d always been instructed here and there all his life, and always found it impossible to not do what he was told, but to hear this aggressiveness and knowing the love and need that it flowered from— oh how it made him weak.

For a moment, Crowley wondered if he’d gone too far given Aziraphale’s stunned stare. He was then pulled into a heavy kiss without warning, and when they broke away, his angel’s eyes were glazed with a need that sent a shiver down his spine. “Crowley,” he whispered softly, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes, “I— I need you.” These words were spoken with a clear wanting, but of what he was unsure, simply knowing that Crowley would know how to care for his angel best.

The demon did not hesitate. Quickly he removed his shirt, revealing a pale and scrawny chest, but to Aziraphale, he was simply stunning. The angel in question soon figured out to follow his lead, carefully but hurriedly removing his bowtie and various layers of clothing. Yes they were getting all wrinkled, but at the moment, he knew he had bigger needs at the moment than just a crinkled outfit. Even still, he made sure to quickly fold them and set them down beside the bed, next to Crowley’s carelessly tossed outfit. Crowley’s hand skimmed Aziraphale’s waistband, soon sliding under to explore just how excited he made his angel. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but when his fingers met a wetness, he was just a tad bit surprised. He didn’t let this hinder him, however, a mischievous grin even Satan himself couldn’t rival as he once again attacked his love’s neck with hungry kisses.

It was as Aziraphale was removing his trousers that he grew self-conscious under the gaze of Crowley, memories of Gabriel’s comments about his size reverberating through his head. He was a soft and considerably more heavy individual than his love, forcing him to ponder Crowley’s thoughts of his corporation. It wasn’t until he’d connected gazes with him and once again saw that deep love and devotion that he knew he needn’t worry about any of that.

Crowley knew that Aziraphale was far less experienced in this department than someone whose job it was to tempt those with such desires, but he was more than happy to guide him. With Crowley on his back like the lazy snake he was, he helped Aziraphale to straddle him. To see his angel there on top of him, radiating a light only he could see, it was something the redhead could gaze upon far longer than all the kingdoms of the world. They didn’t move just yet, simply admiring one another and this moment they had together. Then, moving together, both angel and demon gave into each other’s burning heat.

They rocked together, slow, lost in one another as they linked hands. There was no God, no Satan, no Heaven or Hell— it was just them in this moment. Aziraphale had never experienced such divine pleasures, and yet he melded so perfectly with Crowley it was as though they had always been meant for one another. Their foreheads pressed together, they were lost in one another as rocked back and forth together.

Aziraphale had never felt so full before in his life; full of Crowley and and his intoxicating heat. It melded with his light, moving like the ocean as they became one. It was far more than just Earthly pleasures at this point, and as the pleasure began to coil up inside of the angel and the demon, they both knew they never wanted to be without one another again.

“Crowley— I—!” Aziraphale gasped, tears in his eyes as their movements quickened, desperate to feel that release.

“Me, too, angel,” Crowley rasped, bucking into that sweet spot that brought out a strangled cry from his love. “Just let go.”

“I love you,” Aziraphale whimpered, shutting his tearful eyes and leaning into Crowley so as to be as close to him as possible. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, angel,” Crowley whispered, feeling himself reaching that peak. “Come for me.”

All that pressure building up soon came to a head as both became rigid, the angel tightening around his demon as the other emptied himself inside of him, giving him all he had. In the end, Aziraphale collapsed on top of Crowley, panting as he laid on him just to feel his warmth. They laid there for about a minute, not separating, until the angel finally spoke up. “I’m sorry for using such crude language,” he murmured softly, “but that was…”

Crowley held his breath, waiting to see if he’d actually say it.

Aziraphale hesitated, but finally let it out. “…bloody amazing.”

Crowley let out a curt laugh, soon helping the other off of him and laying beside him, gazing into his eyes. “It was…” he murmured. “You’re amazing…” Even though they were now apart, Crowley still felt as though there was this light in his soul, while Aziraphale was left with that steady warmth in his chest that he could only get from his demon. It was as if they’d left a part of each other in one another; as though they’d melded both physically and spiritually. He couldn’t quite understand it, but accepted that it was simply ineffable and therefore he didn’t question it.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, listening to the other breathe, before his expression quickly snapped to one of annoyance. “I can’t believe you would think I was pursuing Gabriel of all angels.”

Crowley just chuckled, shaking his head. “Just shut up and get some sleep, angel.”

Aziraphale was about to protest about how he didn’t sleep, but now that he was here, beside Crowley, he realized that it seemed enticing for the first time in his six thousand years. Smiling, he reached up to gently stroke the feathers of Crowley’s wings, letting their softness ease him into a blissful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> TLDR;
> 
> aziraphale: i want u
> 
> crowley: no u dont
> 
> aziraphale: yes i do
> 
> crowley: can i get a wahoo
> 
> aziraphale: now what
> 
> crowley: i jizzle


End file.
